Fimbulvetr

Radames

Character OTS

OTS 1
OTS 2

Andante & Iracebeth

Couple OTS


Private darkened dreams

#1
Marrow


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Kismet watches the smattering of leaves that had already wilted into their colorful array, slowly twirl toward the ground. A pining ache settles deep into her soul at the way the leaves freely spiral and curl along the currents of air. Their dance to earth reminds her very much of the dancing she used to perform...except surround by flames of her own making. That locked away magic stirs under charcoal skin and her eyes spark with frustration. Inhaling sharply, she tries to draw the flame out from whatever sorcery dared to lock it away, but as usual nothing happens. Nothing beyond the increasingly irritating stirring of fire and warmth in her veins.

She shifts restlessly where she stands beneath an oak tree, the music she always hears inside her head when she dances playing in a teasing loop inside her head. Tears pool in her vision. Damn you, Marrow. She berates her estranged companion for bringing her to this horrible place and then shortly after disappearing to who knows where. Her mental bashing of his character comes to a screeching halt quickly; I am at fault just as much as he is. Having made no effort to find her friend, she realizes she assumed he would always be the one to look for her. My mother would skin my hide for thinking that.

With a self-deprecating smile, she leans against the tree and allows a few tears at her foolishness to track their way down her cheeks. In no time at all, she becomes engrossed in memories of their travel and her life with the rest of her gypsy family before Marrow found her. Soon enough, her musings take her back to one of her performances and a smile tinged with sorrow graces dark lips. She feels the beat of her uncle’s drums pounding out a rhythm that never failed to make her grin in excitement. Her left hind hoof begins to stamp out the beat she hears inside her mind and her head begins to dip in time to the music as well.

The wind kicks up, sending a swirling vortex of leaves that match her fiery hair to frolic around her. Kismet moves away from the trunk and begins to dance, each step one she mastered since youth. Thump, thump, thump. Hips sway for a half-beat and she spins in a graceful twirl on her right leg. Inaudible music plays and leaves twine themselves in her mane and tail. Her eyes close as she feels the blood pulse in her veins and the magic simmers, pushing against the confines of its invisible cage. Another tear makes it way down her cheek before she spins again and it flies into the autumn air.


Translation: --

Tag: @[Kismet]

#2

Marrow Camdene

i am dumb to tell the weather's wind

Marrow had been, as of late, plagued with a growing concern for his dearest friend. Of course, he had thought about her regularly in his trek north. Hell, she still had his cloak. It was a promise to return but when he had finally the means to do so... nothing. Kismet's stench had gone stale and the youthful prince wasn't necessarily one who had ever been adept at tracking. Her cinder perfume lost to the wind, Marrow determined that eventually - eventually - she'd return... right? At some point their paths had to cross again. They were not lost to each other for all of eternity.

At least, that's what he had told himself.

Finally he had awoken an autumn day and concluded he would find her before returning home. It had always been his job, after all. He got them hopelessly and irreparably lost in the wilds of foreign lands and when he wandered off he always managed to find her again. So he awoke a frost laced morning, blood coursing with the desire to run, to look, to wander, and find his dearest Kismet. Throwing himself into the winds, the runaway prince forged his path through the still green firs and evergreens of the northern realm. As the rhythmic cadence of his gait lulled him into a meditation Marrow considered that the central territories - where that lake had been - would be the best place to start. Afterall, Kistmet was never one to wander too far.

After the brisk, chilled morn hours had faded, his gilded hooves (dirtied now) had managed to carry him to the Slidr Lake. He stopped only once at it's short, nearly running into the blasted waters, to lap at the mirror-like surface and quench the unbelievable thirst he'd managed to procure gallivanting the mountains. Rejuvenated and the sun high to aid his investigations, Marrow shot off again, cresting the wide expanse of the mighty lake, his nose and eyes peeled. Guilt once or twice, or perhaps more, bubbled in his chest for the delay in his return. Ultimately, it had been his fault. Had he not already admitted that it was his chore to return? To take responsibility for his actions? But he'd never been one for responsibility... at least, not yet. But he concluded to his inner musings that this, this locating and securing of his dearest and closest of friends, would be the start of a new leaf. Besides, Ambrosius was lonely without her.

Into the day he search high and low, taking to the thick woods, following whatever smells interested him and he thought would help. Marrow, finally, skirting through the trees with a fatigued and lazy walk came to a halt. Dare he admit defeat? Was he once again failing her? A frown tugged at his velvet lips, and he sighed deeply. Perhaps it had been a fool's errand... But with the stillness came clarity. A dull thump, muffled by the trees and their rustling canopies, permeated through the natural choral of the forest. At first, he thought it simply another passing... but it stopped, before continuing. A melody formed in the thrumming, one Marrow distantly recalled. Audits shooting forward, his visage snapped in the general direction he heard the dance bounding, before trotting after it. He did not call because he feared it would stop the rhythmic song - and if he lost it, he'd lose her.

Sure enough, after enough pursuit through the shedding fall forest, her ebbing and flowing image broke through the trees. She was, in fact, dancing just has he had thought. So he took his approach silently, not necessarily a fan of sneaking up on her, but also holding no desire to stop her. Marrow hadn't seen Kismet dance in... well... had she ever danced again after they set on the road? He wasn't sure... so he wanted to steal the chance again. At the edge of her space, besides a great oak tree, he fell quiet and still at her audience. His audits flicked now and again, musing at what phantom tune was playing (and completely) the one she orchestrated now. But most importantly, he had remained quiet until her finish, her finale, where he finally said, brimming with smile, "Encore!"



TAGGED: Kismet
WC: 706
MUSE: 3/5
OOC: what a dweeb


coding © soupi
image © darkfidelity @ dA





powerplay excused
within reasonable limits!
always tag responses.

Tag: @[Marrow]

#3
Marrow


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His presence nearly sent her stumbling into the trunk of the tree she danced beneath. Years of practice kept her moving in perfect rhythm and the trickle of tears gathering in flame-hued eyes quickly vanishes. His infectious grin brings an automatic duplicate to her features and she finishes her impromptu dance with a sweeping bow; muzzle to right foreleg while her left lifts outward before she returns to standing. ”Why thank you, my favorite audience!” Her voice is jovial and light, at odds with the inner turmoil she now locks securely away. With Marrow, it is impossible to be bereft. She steps a few paces closer to peer at him, vermilion eyes sweeping across his speckled pelt to ensure his good health.

She takes in the runic lettering down the side of his neck, the blackened section surrounding one golden eye, and those gilt hooves splattered with grime. He appears to be unharmed but the question remains, where has he hidden himself since their arrival? She raises an invisible brow, humor brightening her gaze and disguising the abandonment she feels. I will not be selfish. How could she presume to spend all their time together? Surely he wishes to adventure, perhaps even rescue fine damsels, without the burden of an inexperienced gypsy...who would want a female companion on a rescue mission?

”Mânzule…” She lets the word die on amethyst lips, the silence between them comfortable but perhaps not as passive at it once was. ”You’ve been away for some time.” Kismet keeps the tone upbeat; amused even through sheer will alone. A task made easier by the affectionate insult she started with, a secret smile plays across her face. The wind kicks up, freeing some of the leaves tangled in her vibrant hair and part of her is sad to see them scurrying off without a trail of flame to send them off. Must everything remind me of this painful loss? The absence of magic akin to removing a limb from the gypsy.


Translation: Colt

Tag: @[Kismet]

#4

Marrow Camdene

i am dumb to tell the weather's wind

At least she was smiling. That's what Marrow considered when those amethyst lips of hers turned up in that gentle curl. He mimicked her bow, albeit half-heartedly and not nearly to the same sweeping perfection, but a mimic nonetheless before taking another step closer. Marrow is reminded just how long they have spent apart when Kismet lets a single Romani word slip from her lips and he finds himself plagued with the consuming sensation he knows what she is saying but cannot recall it. Behind him his satin banner flicks, the lustrous sheen from his primping and polishing flashing in the day's bright light dappling through the canopy, a tick of his that even he could not read as discomfort.

An itch clawed at the back of his neck and along his hairline. Not knowing what she was saying - not knowing anything about the one friend in the world he trusted the most - bothered him. If he could have become more consumed by the shame he carried, it amplified now. Of course they didn't have to spend every waking hour next to each other, but to become so... like strangers? Marrow simply wouldn't allow it to happen again. His gilt eyes slipped across her face again as she loosed her coy tease, her fiery face and eyes warm with the affection they share for one another, silently vowing within to never be so foolish and withdrawn from her again. "Yes, yes I have..." his words fell from tight lips, finally dropping his steady stare so that it watched as un-singed leaves toiled away on the wind. Silver threads swayed at his nape where they had fallen loose from the plaits, crossing with easy identification across the dark depths of his markings.

Marrow drew a deep inhale, straightening himself to face her again with a sheepish smile - one that spoke of his understanding, that this situation was entirely his fault. "I'm glad I found you. I came back after visiting Ambrosius - oh, uh, that House... kingdom... not sure really rules the northern territories here - anyways I came back and I couldn't find you. The explanations were unnecessary banter, but it wouldn't be a lie if someone thought Marrow didn't like the sound of his own voice. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... well... abandon you." His throat scratched and he cleared it, uncomfortable with this bearing of his sins. One he tosses a glance up towards the bright sun hidden behind a veil of fiery autumnal leaves, casting a blinding highlight across the arched horn protruding from his forehead. But as quickly as he saught to look away to clear the whirring of his mind he turns back to her. "I - uh... You'd have a home there if you'd like. I'd make sure that you'd get a warm welcome." His gilt eyes widened. "Not that you wouldn't be welcome." Good one.



TAGGED: Kismet
WC: 482
MUSE: 3.5/5
OOC: what a dweeb


coding © soupi
image © darkfidelity @ dA





powerplay excused
within reasonable limits!
always tag responses.

Tag: @[Marrow]

#5
Marrow


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Her smile falters for the briefest half-second when it is clear he does not know what she said. It pains her more than the loss of the magic she craves, to know that the knowledge he had gained of her native tongue appears to have vanished. A lesson for another time. She lets the new sorrow drift away to float along with the mournful heart already filled to the brim. His words draw her attention from the internal chaos and she chuckles at the way the wind plays with the loose tendrils of his hair. ”Hold still, bor.” Kismet steps closer to him and carefully tucks some of the soft tresses back into the plaits with careful ivory teeth.

She steps back to peer into his face when he begins speaking, that charcoal brow raising in response to his proclamation of being unable to trace her. ”How long was I expected to wait?” The words are not said with malice, merely curiosity. It is not in her nature to remain in one place for long, especially alone. A solitary gypsy is always an unhappy gypsy. She nods once at his apology and backs away to her former position further under the tree before sending her gaze away from his. Stop it, Kismet. She forces the hurt back into the recesses her mind, burying it with thoughts of home and pleasant memories. Never before has she experienced such conflicting emotions and desires, the urge to embrace her friend wars with the desire to continue on alone to process what she truly wants. Do I want to go home? Or am I simply reacting?

He offers her a place with him in this territory that stole time from them. Dark audits flick back in automatic disgust and she whips around to peer at him with anger simmering in fiery depths. Kismet stares at him, vermilion tail whipping back and forth in open agitation. She silently curses, knowing better than to voice such terrible words, especially in anger. Standing in stiff, tense contemplation, she calms herself with the mantra ‘he doesn’t know’. How could he know what he is asking? He is not like her, something she needs to remember far more often. Nostrils flare once, twice, three times, before silk lips part in measured response. ”Very well, gajo.” Her tone is tight, restrained and for once the term used is spoken in a derogatory manner. She will join him there for the security it may offer against the coming chill, but she will not stay. The insult to her people would be far too great, it is insulting enough that he dared to ask it of her. ”Lead the way.”



Translations: bor = friend; gajo = non-gypsy

Tag: @[Kismet]

#6

~ Marrow ~

i am dumb to tell the weather's wind

He has upset her. It is so painfully obvious he can't even use the crutch of his rather ignorant nature - he always missed things, or only found those which brought them danger. Despite her chuckle, a sound he has so missed in his times North, and her aid in confining the astray threads of his braids a small frown tugs along his velvet muzzle. For a moment his muzzle inches closer to her skin while she fights the silvery tresses and he lingers there. With some stealth he draws in her scent and is reminded of the campfires they left behind, of tendrils of dancing smoke rising from softly glowing embers. It was a smell he missed as much as her laughter. But he draws away with a snap, almost rigid, as she pulls away. He offers a meek smile, one that wrinkles the pink of his mug as his treasured gaze follows her. Away she steps, drawing attention to the all too obvious question: how long was she supposed to wait for him?

He's glad she's turned somewhat away. His harks fall back into his freshly groomed plaits and his gaze drifts away. He feels shame and guilt, not in the usual capacities he had in the past. There was a difference between standing before his scolding father and now. Now, he realizes what true remorse is. Too long he'd gone, too long he'd been with the others in Ambrosius. When he looks back, Kismet has returned her focus to him but it is searing - he visibly recoils back, visage rising and audits falling sheepishly to the side. Could he blame her? No. Not necessarily. Very quickly Marrow is conscious of his own behavior - more like the prince he had hoped to leave behind. Had the lady Ianthe changed him so much in such a short time? Had the familiarity of court really drawn him back from the wayward adventurer he'd come to know himself as? Come to know Kismet with? Inside his chest his heart palpitates, skittering in beats while the runaway tries to reconcile with himself and imaginary Kismet - he runs through dozens of added apologies, or other phrases, but it is her tone that clips him back, draws his visage - scolded, scoffed at.

In the moment he felt very small, very selfish. She agrees to join him but he can feel that she holds a reproach for the idea - a malice he's unfamiliar with and it makes him uncomfortable. So he stands before her and he feels prostrated, drawn and quartered and he knows that he deserves it. He breaks their eye contact because, quite honestly, he fears the fires he sees in her. His vision follows the lines of new, fresh scars along his knees - from skidding down tracks and roads and gallivanting after highwaymen he had no business pursuing. His nostrils flare slightly and a glint comes to his eyes as he remembers the bravery he had had through those events and the lack of bravery he is showing now. His audits slowly erect themselves, and he glances up to her through the sheen glowing off of his single, spiraling horn. "Kismet..." he begins, voice low, but chastises himself within. Dammit, Marrow... try harder. His golden flints prick through the verdant blades of grass and he draws nearer, willing to face her flames if needed. "I promise to make amends for my faults." Still is voice is low, and he is unsure why - but it feels necessary, as if he wouldn't want someone else to hear. Who would there be to hear thought? His mind whispers a name in immediate answer - Ianthe - and he quickly discards the rising shame. He'd have to deal with that later... "Although I haven't done anything to show it, I understand how hard it was for you to come with me. I do... our time together has made it very clear..." he trails off a moment, glancing to the side as his mind gropes for the right word, "... bor." The word is strained, a struggle, and flexed with uncertainty but he turns back to her with a sincere expression.

He takes another step closer, the old leaves of autumn crunching beneath his hooves. "We don't have to go back right now. I'm here to do whatever you'd like." he says with a shake of his head. "Shit, you can yell at me if you want."



TAGGED: Kismet
WC: 736
MUSE: 5/5
OOC: whoops this got away from me


coding © soupi
image © haraima of dA





powerplay excused
within reasonable limits!
always tag responses.

Tag: @[Marrow]